


A Daddy's Comfort

by DenaCeleste



Series: little!Peter and Daddy!Stiles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Sex, BDSM, But only a little, Daddy Kink, Daddy/boy - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, boy!Peter, daddy!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4217112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/pseuds/DenaCeleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nightmare rips Peter from sleep, and Stiles comforts his baby boy as only he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Daddy's Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mysenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/gifts).



> I was really inspired by a friend’s suggestion about Daddy!Stiles and Little!Peter (though it’s really more boy!Peter), and this is what happened. My first fanfic in…11 years? Somewhere in there. So, you have [mysenia](http://mysenia.tumblr.com) to thank for this, in addition to the Steter writers everywhere for getting me into this ‘ship. 
> 
> (Warning: Unbetaed. Also, this involves a relationship dynamic between adults wherein one is the dominant Daddy, and the other is the submissive boy. The language will reflect that.)
> 
>    
>  **Unless otherwise stated, all works are unbetaed. Please no public concrit. Please keep comments positive. Any private concrit can be directed to my Tumblr ask box.**

He woke with his heart pounding out a tattoo of panic and choked off a cry. Mustn’t betray weakness. Enemies waited to take advantage. He smelled smoke residue, trapped in his nostrils no matter what he did.

Fingers scrabbled at his chest, tugged at the hair there until he winced.

“Wassa? What’s wrong?” Stiles poked his head up from under Peter’s arm and wiped the drool from the side of his face on the sheet.

“Nothing,” Peter bit out, and turned onto his side.

A gusty sigh blew across the back of his neck and he hunched his shoulders. “Babe, turn over.”

“I’m fine, Stiles.” He dug the tips of his claws into the flesh of his palms. “Go back to sleep.”

Tender, unyielding hands pulled at his arm until Peter turned over with a hiss. His eyes already burned blue in the night and lit up Stiles’ face.

“We’re back to Stiles, are we?” Amusement and concern warred, but concern won. “What happened, baby boy?" 

The reminder jarred. "We’re back to baby boy, are we?” Peter threw back. “I don’t feel like bedroom games now, darling. So just go back to sleep like a good little boy, and I’ll do the same.”

The smirk should’ve worried him. Yes, it’s the smirk that started the roiling in his belly. “Oh, I know you’ll be a good little boy. But sometimes you’re naughty. However, your defiance usually hides pain and-or fear. Which is it tonight?”

Fuck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, so both. Now, we have some rules in our den. I want you to tell me what they are, baby boy.”

Peter swallowed hard. It felt like rocks were in his throat. He couldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes anymore. That gaze knew too much. About every-damn-thing, but mostly about him. “I’m fine. I just want to go back to sleep.”

“You can do that, absolutely. But I want to hear our rules. There are some things I don’t let slide, and the welfare of those I love is definitely at the top of that list. So, start talking.” That voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket, caring, firm, unbending.

“Stubborn fucker,” Peter muttered. Stiles sat back against their headboard and just stared at him, fingers tap-tap-tapping on his knee. Tap tap tap tap–“Rule one is that you’re always Daddy.”

Long fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Good boy. Rule two?”

Peter huffed. “That I always tell Daddy the truth.”

“And three?”

“Daddy will always be there.” His eyes burned. Why did his eyes burn? He stared at the sweat-soaked wrinkles of the top sheet.

“Come, let me hold you baby.” Those hands, those slender, beautiful hands pulled him in, and Peter…Peter let them.

He tucked his face against Stiles’ neck and breathed in. Sweat-paper-sex-medicine-musk replaced the smoke that haunted him. “The fire.”

Stroking now, delicate lines drawn up and down his back. “What about the fire, baby boy?”

“Just. The chaos and the screams and the little–” he choked off. “I never forget them. I died and came back and they still haunt me.”

“The fire wasn’t your fault. That you couldn’t save them wasn’t your fault. You’re my good boy, and you tried so hard, and that event wasn’t your fault.” The words comforted, as they always did, and some knot in his chest loosened.

“Awfully specific.” Peter lipped at the mole-speckled skin in reach.

“Well, you must admit that there are events which are your fault, Mr. I-came-back-from-the-dead. But that’s not what we’re talking about here. Besides, you’re my good boy no matter what the past is. Because you do want to be good for me, right?” He used his fingernails on Peter’s scalp, and it’s all he could do not to roll his head back, show his neck, his belly.

The hand fisted in his hair. “Right?” This time Stiles’ voice had an edge, a sweet metallic sharpness that sent a thrill down his spine.

He gave in. “Yes, Daddy.”

Stiles pressed a smacky kiss to his forehead. “Good boy. Now, would you like something to help you sleep?”

Peter groaned. “Yes, Daddy.” His face tingled with heat. The scent of their arousal clouds around them, a Stiles-and-Peter mixture that never fails to get to him.

“What would you like? Tell Daddy all about it.” The hand in his hair went from gripping to stroking in swirls that wound up around his ear. That particular erogenous zone Stiles discovered early on by complete accident, as was his habit.

Shudders wracked him and he arched into each tender caress. “Dunno.” He gave a sulky jerk of one shoulder.

“You need Daddy to pick, baby boy?” Stiles nibbled on his other ear, nipping the outer edge with sharp teeth in the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

“Nnnyes, Daddy.” Peter gasped as Stiles tweaked one nipple, then the other.

“What do you say to Daddy, baby boy? I don’t want you to forget now,” Stiles murmured next to his ear, his voice teasing and controlled.

“More, Daddy!” Peter thrashed, and Stiles ends up on top of him, straddling his hips. He thrust up against the fragile, human boy, who merely looked at him with one brow raised.

“No, I don’t think that’s the word.” Stiles brought his hands down hard on Peter’s nipples, wrangling a small yelp before rubbing the pain away.

Peter stuck his lower lip out. He wanted to win his games. He always did. Before.

Before Stiles.

“Pouting doesn’t work for me baby boy. But, since you can’t remember the right words, I think I’ll occupy your mouth until you do.” Stiles rubbed the front of his boxers where they tented, then pulled them all the way off, flailing a little until Peter steadied him.

Peter licked his lips. Stiles, pale, pink, so human but with a cock that Peter craved. All his scent and sweat converged right there, and when the flushed head brushed his mouth, he licked his lips again, just brushing the precum that leaked at the tip.

“That’s a boy, open up for me.” Stiles rubbed the head against Peter’s mouth again, and this time he opened.

Something about having that cock in his mouth. He sucked, cupped his tongue beneath the shaft, and when Stiles thrust in far enough, swallowed around the head. Then his Daddy pulled back, the head resting on his tongue.

“Just suck, baby. Don’t move your tongue, or your head, just suck on Daddy for a bit.” Peter glanced up, met that dark gaze, saw the red, well-bitten lip.

“Good boy. Such a good little boy for Daddy. Do you remember your word yet?” Stiles pet him, not just his hair, but around the sides of his face.

Peter wanted to suckle though. It was a strange comfort, to have no thought, no role, no duty beyond sucking at his Daddy’s cock. So he didn’t answer, which was answer enough coming from him.

He sucked harder when his cock was enveloped in a hot, slick vice. “Daddy wants to make you feel good, baby. You want me to make you feel good?”

Peter nodded, and the cock in his mouth disappeared. So did the pleasurable grip on his cock. He whined, low in his throat.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay baby. We’re going to try a new position, okay?” Stiles stroked Peter’s swollen bottom lip with his thumb.

Peter nodded, wanting the cock back in his mouth, wanting pleasure, wanting…Daddy.

Stiles turned around on top of him, and backed up until his knees bracketed Peter’s head and his cock drooped just out of reach.

Peter licked at what he could, and then Stiles pushed his cock back, lowered his hips, and Peter was stuffed, scented, surrounded by his Daddy. Then he let out a muffled scream when wet heat took possession of his cock, pleasure ramming through him until he choked himself on his Daddy’s cock.

He sucked, sucked with relentless fervor, matching the pace of the mouth on his own cock.

Above the sound of blood rushing through his ears, Peter heard, “Come on now, come for Daddy, come all over Daddy’s face,” as his Daddy stroked him, hard and fast. With a whimper he complied, spurting, endorphins racing through him, the thought of marking his Daddy, HIS Daddy.

He went into high gear, relishing the weight holding him in place, the dick filling his mouth, the balls covering the top part of his face, the taste of precum and the smell of Daddy’s sweat and desire. And then it all disappeared again, the weight and the cock.

“Daddy!” Peter cried out, the anchor holding him safe and in place gone, pleasure turned to cold fear of abandonment.

“Baby boy, you’re all good, just gonna fuck you now.” Peter clutched at the hand Stiles put out as he rooted around the bedside drawer for lube.

“Kay, okay, I’m okay,” Peter repeated, and calmed his breathing. He locked his gaze on his Daddy, so in control, his eyes crinkling in the way that meant he was pleased.

Stiles slicked himself up with his free hand. “I need my other hand back, baby love. Gotta spread you open for me. Or do you want to spread that sweet ass open for me?”

Peter flushed again, relinquished the hand, boosted his legs up and reached down to spread himself. He couldn’t meet his Daddy’s gaze.

“Aw, that’s Daddy’s boy.” Stiles shoved two lubed fingers into him and Peter howled. His claws came into play, pricking the sensitive skin near his hole, and that just got him hard, again.

“And you’re hard for me again. I want you to come while I fuck you. Think you can do that for me?” Stiles removed his fingers from Peter’s ass, then slid right into place, like he belonged there.

Peter nodded, couldn’t seem to stop nodding. Then Stiles gripped his shoulders, rolled his hips up as he pulled Peter down, perfect and claiming. Peter’s eyes rolled back as Stiles trapped his cock between them.

“Fuck, fuck, Daddy, Daddy let me–” he broke off, his fangs dropping to tear open his bottom lip.

Stiles kept up the same rhythm, hard, fast, fluid, and delicately licked at the blood. “Yeah baby, come, you can come anytime you like. If you come all over Daddy, I’ll come inside you.” He panted in Peter’s face and nuzzled at his cheek.

Peter couldn’t hold it back, covered and claimed as he was, the never ending sensation of being stretched open on his Daddy’s cock as his own got stroked between their sweaty bodies.

“Yes, Daddy, come in me!” Peter shouted, tensed, and humped up against Stiles as he shot his load.

Stiles buried his face against Peter’s neck, and Peter let him, let his Daddy grunt and groan against his most vulnerable spot. When Stiles came, he pressed a kiss against the soft, tender flesh, then fastened his teeth around the tendon that strained beneath it.

Peter stilled, his mind pleasantly muddled, but still awake. Sweet pats down his side warned him before Stiles moved to the side with a grimace.

“We need a shower baby boy.” He at Peter’s arm, which Peter let flop to the bed.

“I don’t. I don’t want to.” Peter had trouble stringing his words together now, but he didn’t want to wash the scent of them away.

Stiles leaned over him, grabbed his chin, and looked him in the eye. “We won’t use soap. Just wash away the sticky. And maybe clean you out a bit.”

Peter bit his lip, let his gaze travel over his Daddy’s face. “Hot chocolate?”

Stiles smirked, and Peter could see the smart remark on the tip of his tongue. But he just patted Peter on the cheek. “Sure, baby boy, whatever you want. Whatever will make you feel good. Then maybe we can get some more sleep.”

Peter flushed. He knew what he should say, that he should thank him. Gratitude didn’t come easily to him. Peter instead tilted his chin back even more and let the tension slide away with a sigh.

“Okay, Daddy.”


End file.
